


Before we have moved farther on

by yuletide_archivist



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right before the battle at Forli, a very charged (although reasonably subtle) chat takes place. A sort of "Who's on First" for the Sforzas and Borgias.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before we have moved farther on

**Author's Note:**

> Written for liriaen

 

 

"Then lovingly he took me by the hand and said: 'Before we have moved farther on, so that the fact may seem less strange to you...'"

Inferno XXXI.28-30 

*

"I've heard that she's a hellbeast from the darkest depths." Matteo scratches his chin. He spits squarely onto the ground, and settles. The ride is long, and he's not looking forward to all the fuss over it; after all, every spring is for campaigning. If there weren't campaigning, and the attendant rewards, he'd have to become a sluggard, melt into the undifferentiated masses of Florence. The winter, with its myopic pleasures: wines, silks, festivals, is mostly enjoyable for the first time the mud hardens, and he can finally ride out, and defeat someone. 

Giovanni, the stupid Roman captain, says nothing, and blinks off into the hills. Matteo knows that Giovanni is a choice for this position, leading the right wing of the army in, to press against the body of Forli. It is well-defended, and Matteo has heard the rumors about the defenders themselves; the most brutish creatures, left with their beastly lady. All the incidentals are gone, packed up and left without a 'By our Lady.' It seems decent enough, and Matteo has never been fond of children on the battlefield, but it speaks a certain determination he finds wholly unpleasant. Giovanni merely nodded when he learned of this. 

Matteo finds this waiting dull. He's born for fighting, mastered his sword and rapier at ten, and his eyes are still sharp enough to pick out a feeding hawk, even under the dull stars. It's not a boast, either, even if the pretty mondana are impressed enough, when he draws out his other sword, in their bawdy houses. Matteo is in the business of his family, and that is war-- it is merely a lucky chance that he is good at it. 

"Well, we have the Lord on our side, as surely as they were Moors." Matteo is pleased with his own joke, and slaps his horse's shoulder. 

Giovanni looks down his pinched nose at Matteo, and lifts his eyebrows disdainfully. "And why would that change the course of our victory?" Giovanni was hand-picked by the Roman family, and Matteo has heard rumors before, of their Spanish rites, the secret diseases they show behind closed doors, even the whispers about their commander. Ignorant talk, when there's nothing else to do, and a long night ahead. But hearing Giovanni's apathy for those heretics, and even if Matteo does not approve of this enemy's determination, they are still good Christians, and good citizens. The Lord favors the brave, but will not turn away the weak; Matteo can catechize properly. 

Matteo shuffles. "Well, it was a short remark. The sun will tilt into their eyes, as we close in. It's surely a mark of favor from God." He nods, decisively. 

Giovanni looks like he has taken a rotten bite of meat, after a side of perfectly-salted flavor. "And the fact that the sun has always done that, and surely favored them this morning, means nothing to your calculations." 

Matteo laughs, in the hope of lifting the tightness he can feel closing in. "You make it sound like some Eastern mysticism! No, I'd never calculate God's will like a Byzantine." Matteo is quite learned, and he hopes to ingratiate himself with Giovanni, for it's never wise to have a commander who wishes you death. "We now have the advantage, thanks to God and our lords." 

Giovanni nods satisfiedly, and looks back at the hills. "You find that no contradiction, that your heavenly Lord is helped by the actions of your earthly lord? Even if you are a Florentine, that must not be a difficult object to uncover." Romans, Matteo thinks, Romans. 

"No, it's nothing at all like that. Of course, the earthly lords, although not mine proper, for you have noticed my accent, have their own kind of power, but it is power given to them by the Father in heaven, and only he can gift such awesome power. You know these things, they have churches in Rome!" Matteo laughs again. His horse neighs, and skitters a little, under the excitement. It is a dependable beast, but one used to battle, not delight, and is consequently terrified of it. 

Giovanni nods. He may not understand the devotion of Forli in all its excessive glory, but he at least finds Matteo's joke funny. "We do have churches in Rome. His Holiness himself," Matteo crosses himself, fully, as Giovanni vaguely moves his hand through the points, "has blessed this mission, and indeed, as we departed from that city, he saw us, in glorious color and noise, off to achieve victory." 

Matteo is awed. Then it really is true, that these Roman families have all the power! He has never been on a mission blessed such as this one. The usual fighting is of local families, over acres of land or some trading rights. His own city, known for its internal squabbles, never merits intercession on such a grand scale; nor would some of those fools wish it! This, though, is battle of celestial proportions, and his jesting remark is quite seriously applicable. God's regent on earth wishes Forli to be obliterated! He has sent his own trusted lieutenant to oversee this act. It is truly a merging of the divine purpose and man's action. "That sort of pageantry is only in the Holy City. Is our commander aware of this purpose?" 

"What, the man's own son?" Matteo frowns at Giovanni; is it not a sin to commit lies? Their commander may be a nest of snakes, but Matteo will not speak his name for the act of speech may call up dreadful things. The Pope has declared his own holiness, and Matteo will not slight in, in the casual Roman way. The sun climbs higher in the sky. 

Soon, they will be ready to take Forli, with its possibly-Godless, possibly-not, citizen defenders and hellish woman of a queen. Matteo is discomfited by Giovanni's dismissal of that which is sacred and high, but he is the captain, and through him, the words of the commander, the Borgia himself. And though him, the words of God alone. Matteo crosses himself, and waits, for the sun to cross its apex. 

 


End file.
